


But In My Head I Am Still There

by heijihatsutori



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Family Issues, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Paranoia, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma, Separation Anxiety, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heijihatsutori/pseuds/heijihatsutori
Summary: I've known this dream for a long time(Or, there are seven, and then there are the ones that remained)





	But In My Head I Am Still There

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kpopolymfics2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2019) collection. 



> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2019 as part of Team Alternate Universe 1. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScnGZ3sc4vp9XXIxpb7ypUvl3sMlFS55xly7sMIa_GmLQgP1A/viewform)!
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  **10cm – "Help"**  
> [lyrics](https://popgasa.com/2017/08/28/10cm-help/) **|** [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnT9LmmlLXw) **|** [supplementary](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/03/ab/0e/03ab0e27baba9ba0fddd178850097731.jpg) \- [prompts](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/39/f5/33/39f5336cdf1c1dfbe3b6425ff4600d19.jpg)

 

 _Help_  
_Somebody help_  
_Somebody help me please tonight_

  
*******

 _Wouldn’t there be a world_  
_Where all the people who like to torture me disappear?_

 

-30th August-

 

             The whirring sound of the vacuum cleaner fills the space of the apartment and Sungjong’s eyes shine with focus, as he is determined to reach every corner of the floor, starting from the living room, the hallways, the kitchen, the spare rooms, and now, the room he stayed for the last 4 years since he moved to the city for college.

             He takes extra care on cleaning the whole place today, for he is moving out, and the landlady, Mrs. Park had been so, so kind to him throughout all these years, the least he can do is not giving her more work to do with his departure.

             He already sorted out his stuffs; sold the appliances, give away textbooks he received from the seniors before his, post back boxes and luggage bags that the room feels bare, almost like when he first moved in, years ago.

             A thud sound breaks the constant whirring before it escalates to a series of cackles, as if something is blocking the cleaner. Frowning, for he is sure he had cleared everything before he starts vacuuming, he stops the machine, and bends down to reach under the bed, and his fingers curled around something long and thin.

             Sungjong straightens himself as he pulls out his hand, only to see a yellow pencil, and his breath hitched at the sight, eyes widen. The lack of sound makes him dizzy and just like that he can hear it again, those mocking words in writing class, from all those years ago, the disapproving stares of the elders during family gatherings, each and every year until he moved out and never return back, the barely hidden frown on his parents face when he slipped and holds the chopstick on his left, opposite of everyone else at the dinner table, day by day by day, and his vision narrows at the afterimages in his mind.

             Abruptly he stands, marches to the window, and lifts the hand to hurl the pencil out, but the tight grip remains instead, as if some part of him is unwilling to concede defeat, and Sungjong slumps to the floor, the pencil rolls out of his slack fingers.

             He never wants to go back, wants to stay here in this apartment forever, but he promised to go back after graduation in exchange for the chance to do what he wants in college, and he had tried to pretend that everything is, will be fine, when he knows it is not.

             His gaze catches the pencil again, and reality descends on him, mercilessly.

             Later, he curls himself at a corner, his left hand grips the pencil with a steadiness never apparent on his right one, despite all the practice, despite all the time that passed, and he writes down the Hangul letters, one by one by one in a notebook until the pages are filled with nothing but black, carbon smudging his fingers.

             Sungjong thinks of the train ride home tomorrow, and he feels sick to the bones.

             For he can still feel the judging stares, creeping under his skins, hollowing his insides.

             So much, he cannot feel the tears running down his cheeks.

 

*******

 _Actually, I know_  
_But I’m a bit nervous_

 

-19th March-

 

             “Enjoy your meal, sir.”

             Sungyeol nods at that, a slight smile at the direction of the waitress, for once unable to thank her properly, to his frustration. In front of him Myungsoo thanks the girl instead, hands already reaching for the cutlery, ready to dig in.

             He catches a slight blush on the girl’s face, -must be new, never saw her before, Myungsoo muses-, and he just chuckles awkwardly, hoping his boyfriend (boyfriend!) will just chuck it to his usual bitterness of being less popular with girls, despite clearly not caring of such notions at all.

             That’s the thing; this handsome boy in front of him is actually _his_ , this is his forever best friend turn boyfriend after years of pining, and Sungyeol was (still is) over the moon on the new status upgrade, yet the anxiety never leaves whenever they are out together, the disgusted look on his parents face upon revelation haunts him with each steps, heavy weights settling in his gut, churning his inside out.

             Myungsoo understands him, had seen first-hand how bad his breakdowns can be, so they had keep this relationship to themselves, away in the privacy of either of their places, but this is the first time since a long while they had a time for each other out of the busy schedule of part-time job and college, so lunch date it is.

             They had chosen this café, a small quaint place with a killer sandwich and great coffee, one they had frequent so often they’re known regulars to the staffs there, and here they are, at the usual spot, having the usual order, and he is not supposed to feel like this, not here, at this place he is so familiar with, and he feels like screaming.

             For he is drowning inside, paranoid of eyes looking, watching, -for some reason the café having more customers that it used to be at this hour-, so bad, the sandwich tastes like ash on his tongue.

             Sungyeol tries to breathe, but it is proving to be very difficult at the moment.

             So he focuses on his immediate surroundings instead, on Myungsoo’s voice talking softly in between bites of sandwich, how the professor approves of his final project after all the proposals, and he makes an effort to nod at the right places, and chews slowly, if only to avoid saying anything at all.

             He knows he should have let Myungsoo know on his current situation, -they had this talk after the first few disastrous dates- but the younger had been looking forward to this outing, he cannot have it in him to cut it short.

             Not when they will be even busier after this, in order to be able to graduate together.

             So he keeps his mouth shut, even when he can hardly hear Myungsoo anymore, the buzzing in his ears blocking everything out, until the younger’s clear voice pierces through.

             “You have something on your face.”

             Sungyeol lifts his head just in time for the other to reaches over, the touch jolts him as if burned, and on reflex he swats the hand away, with a single ‘don’t.’

             He wonders if he said it as loud as he thought he did, for he can feel the eyes again, pinning him down on the chair, freezing his insides, and he lowers his hand, clenches it hard, so tight the knuckles turn white under the table.

             Somehow, his gaze trained on Myungsoo, and he can see the hurt look on his beloved’s face, before the younger stands up, throwing a couple of bills on the table, and storms out of the place in frustration.

             He loves him, he does, but it’s as if he can never erase the echoes of curses in his head, the yelling that he is wrong, something is wrong with him, the judging look of his brother from the spot on the kitchen, the loud slam of the door with his stuffs thrown all over the pavement.

             Still, he loves him, with all his heart, so he stands, shakily, trying to chase after his most important person, even with his legs wobbling under him, and he adds a couple more bills to the pile, trying to count the price when a loud crash of glass breaking comes from the counter.

             It’s the barista, who had been working here for as long as he could remember, smiling sheepishly at the commotion, before squarely meets his eyes, gesturing with his head to the door, mouthing the word ‘go!’ and nods once, firm.

             And for Sungyeol, that is all he needs to gather himself together again.

             So he grabs all the bills, slams it on the counter, and wholeheartedly thanked the man.

             He runs out, never looks back, as the bell chiming above the door greets him goodbye.

 

*******

 _Is everyone the same as me_  
_But just holding it in?_

 

-1st June-

 

             The sound of children greets him from everywhere he looks, the heat almost unbearable in such crowd, as the Summer sun shines brightly above him, but as expected nothing beats the brilliant smile on Yujin’s face as she laughs merrily in front of him, her small fingers clutching his, dragging him to every single attraction available on the amusement park.

             They have been here since the moment the gate opens, which means a good couple of hours already but it’s a wonder how his child is still full of energy, the Minnie headband bouncing on her neck instead, being a bit too big for her little head, as she screams in delight at the sight of the carousel, hand tightens in his in her excitement, and that’s the only warning he gets as he got pulled to run forward again.

             Still, when Yujin waves at him from her seat on one of the white horses, as the carousel goes round and round and round, Sunggyu can only smiles and waves back, capturing the moment in his memory, any sign of tiredness disappears with each smile thrown his way by the little girl.

             And for a moment he forgets it all; about Mina, the new man she married, the impending move overseas, everything. Here, in this amusement park where he can have Yujin all for himself, where his dream comes true even if only for today, Sunggyu holds on, willing for time to move slowly, however impossible it may be.

             Alas, they finished all the attractions, and Yujin grows hungry and tired, so reluctantly they leave the place, and grabs late lunch at fast food restaurant, indulging the child to the fullest. He can almost hear Mina’s voice berating him for it, but he can hardly care less about all that now.

             Yujin hands him a fries with an ‘ahh’, eyes wide, and who is he to deny the seven year-old princess, really. But he is feeling mischievous, so he playfully tries to bite the finger along, earning a little shriek from the shocked girl, which got him laughing silly.

             There’s only so much time one can spend in such place, so they take to walk again.

             Yujin leads him by the hand, another holding the dolphin balloon tied to the wrist she had been so enamored with at the amusement park, all the while chatting incessantly; about school, classmates, teachers, the new cartoon everyone is watching, and about the place mom talks about, the one they’re going with father.

             She comes to a halt then, looking up imploringly at him, question in her eyes.

             Sunggyu smiles softly; Yujin has always been a very smart girl.

             So he bends down, looking at her in the eye, and without a word, opens his arms wide, to which the child runs immediately to, short arms trying to round his body, clutching his shirt tight.

             “Dad,” she calls, “Dad, the place, is very far from here.”

             He nods, unable to say anything, one hand patting the back, another just holding her head. And for a moment they stay like this, at the sidewalk by the playground they always, always go to, the last stop for the day before they are to part again, like all the times before.

             He strengthens his resolve; he will not cry in front of her, for he is her dad.

             The small hands let go of his shirt, and he lowers his arm, as Yujin steps back. The same hand grabs hold of his again, and Yujin leads them to the bench, foregoing the usual swing for once, and instead leans heavily to his side, almost too still for the usually active girl

             He recalled the phone call from 2 days ago, how Mina talked with reluctance, about letting Yujin spending the whole day with him, saying it’s Hojun’s idea, since ‘she won’t see him for a while after this’, and the usual stern tone of his ex-wife to not tell Yujin anything unnecessary ends the call, to which he scoffed at.

             He always thinks Mina’s underestimating the child too much; just because Yujin tends to be a bit quieter at home doesn’t mean she’s still not the same bright girl who learns faster than most kids her age, and he wonders how is it that she is not able to see that, but Hojun does.

             Hojun; who arranges for the biweekly outing between him and the girl, who keeps the promise to not let the new marriage being the reason for Yujin to be completely cut off from him, her biological father, even when Mina is not keen on the idea.

             He never really knows how to feel about him, -more awkwardness than anything else- but he is thankful for all the effort. And he knows the man loves Yujin too; the girl has nothing but good words for him, and if his child can accept that she has two dads now, Sunggyu can learn to share, somehow.

             The whole overseas transfer is still a very bitter pill to swallow, though.

             Yujin nudges his side, and immediately his attention is back to the present.

             He turns his head to see she takes off the headband, and gestures for him to lower his head. Amused, he obliged, as always, and she fits it to his head, brushing his hair in the process. Then, she holds out her hand, the one she ties the balloon to, and gestures for him to take it too, to his surprise.

             “Take care of the dolphin for me, dad, please?”

             Sunggyu unties the balloon from her wrist, and clutches it tightly, “I will, honey.”

             Yujin leaps into his chest then, and with a small, wobbly voice, says the words.

             “Dad, I promise I’ll never forget you, I’ll always remember you.”

             He sucks a breath, pulls her closer, and echoes the words.

             When they part, the child’s eyes are shiny, and he knows his too, but they’re smiling, holding back all the tears, and he is proud, so proud, even when his heart breaks at the sight of this child, his young, very young girl, acting tough in front of her dad, for both of their sakes.

             The alarm rings on his phone, and they both know it’s time. Taking a deep breath, which Yujin copies almost immediately, to his amusement, they stands up, hands automatically reaches and links together, and they walk, in tandem, to the main road.

             As if nothing had happened, Yujin starts talking again; about how happy she is, the carousel was really fun, dad, I’m glad I got you to ride with me in the end, the ice cream was so delicious, I won’t let mom know we eat the burgers; it’s our secret, and Sunggyu keeps his eyes on her, savoring everything.

             There’s a slight halt, almost unnoticeable, in her steps, but he knows her well. So he turns his head slightly, facing forward, and sees the familiar silver car. And Hojun is there, leaning against it, a complicated expression on his face.

             Yujin stops a couple of steps away from the car, and tugs at him, so he bends down, and she kisses his cheek both sides, to which he reciprocates easily, as always.

             “Dad,” she calls, “I love you.”

             And Sunggyu, oh how he loves her, so much, he hopes it shows in his voice, “I love you too, Yujin. Be healthy, listen to mom,” and almost absentmindedly, adds, “and father, too.”

             He wonders if Hojun hears him, if the slight choke from the direction of the car is nothing but his imagination, but he is dad, Hojun is father, and Mina is mom; that’s what Yujin decided, and they never had a problem with it, though hearing him referring to the man as such must be a first in front of said person, he belatedly realized.

             Still, Yujin smiles widely, enthusiastically say ‘I will!’, and that’s that.

             He feels the small hand slowly letting go, and he stands up, his gaze never leaves Yujin, even when he can feel Hojun staring at him, as his girl walks to the car, never stops waving, and he smiles, waving back.

             And Sunggyu stands there, eyes following the car as it drives away.

             He watches until it disappears from view, taking Yujin away, far away from him.

             He tries breathing in, yet he feels nothing but empty inside.

 

*******

 _All the lies and things I said all day_  
_All the stupid things I did_

 

-30th August-

 

             “You’re fired!”

             For a moment there is nothing but silence, as Howon’s mind goes blank, unable to comprehend the situation. Still, there is no mistaking those words; it echoes in his ears, mocking him, the gasp and look of horror on his colleague’s face behind the counter, the smug look on the pompous customer’s ugly mug.

             There is deep churning within his guts, starting slow and shimmering throughout the whole mess, which has now grown into nothing short of pure, unaltered rage.

             He can see nothing but red, as he raises his fist and with next to zero hesitation, socks his (now ex-) manager right on the jaw, to the shock of everyone present. Still, he is so, so mad, that he can barely feel the sting on his fist at the impact, even when the aftershock shakes his entire body.

             In a way, it is scary how little he feels at the sight of the older man crumpled to the floor, and even when he stands at his full height, staring the other down, he somehow just feels more anger at almost everything instead. So he turns, and storms away to the break room, his shaky hands making undoing all the buttons more difficult that it supposed to be, to his frustration.

             He knows he might regret it, raising his hand, but there is a limit to how much bullshit one can take, and Howon, for all his brashness, was raised to always, always be good to women.

             So when he stood up for the girl at the cashier –a new part timer from the nearby high school- against the very-much-drunk customer’s harassment, he had not expected for the manager to actually blamed them for ‘causing disturbance and being rude to the customer’.

             The man even ignore the fact that the drunkard was the one who started trashing about, making a huge ruckus over nothing, and kicked his leg, before yelped in pain instead, the sound loud enough to carry across the whole area of the store, even the manager’s room in the far inside.

             His threshold level of patience has never been that high to begin with, which only seem to diminish faster ever since he started this part time job.

             Whoever said working at the convenient store is easy anyway?

             Still, he tried his best; he kept to himself but took the time to help out whenever he finished his tasks instead of taking early breaks, he tried to interact more with the customers even when he knows his face is too stern-looking and borderline scary when he is tired, and most of all, he tolerated the constant verbal abuse from said manager.

             He has half the mind to actually go back and ask why he was hired in the first place, but remembering the earlier event caused him to scowl harder, so much he almost slammed the ancient locker shut with all his power, which would be the worst thing to do in this situation. Howon doesn’t want to actually have to pay for replacement, so he holds himself back, just so it won’t break under his hands.

             Changing himself out of the uniform, his gaze catches the clothes he accidentally packed in his bag in his haste to actually get on time for the shift this morning, and an idea sprung to his mind.

             He walks out of the break room not too soon after, in black tank top and shorts instead of the usual shirt and pants, and there is a satisfaction in his chest when the manager balked at the sight.

             For Howon stands there, welcoming the murmur as his steel gaze sweeping out the area, meeting each eye as if a dare for them to say anything, anything at all at his appearance.

             After all, he knows what a sight he made; a man with a deep scowl on the face, a prosthetic that looks almost metallic on a leg, a long, horrible scar along the calf on the other, both supporting a body home to almost countless surgery scars, -the most prominent being the one across his collar bone to the neck, made visible from the stark contrast of his tank top color- after the terrible accident that almost killed him years ago.

             His father called him a freak with a broken body, and there are sounds of whispers wherever he goes, but he is proud of these legs, for he is still able to dance, even if not as intense as he could before.

             And perhaps it can teach the drunken man to not go around kicking people’s legs, lest it’ll hurt himself instead. With a final glare at said man, he walks to the exit, one hand clutching his bag, the other throwing open the door.

             Clenching his teeth, he walks on, his mind buzzing in his ears, for the total show of defiance actually did nothing to improve his mood, so here he is, walking aimlessly down the road, if only to not unleash his fury on unsuspecting people.

             After what feels like forever, Howon slows his brisk pace; his heart is almost bursting in his chest from the intense workout, and spots a bus stop in front of him. There’s another man sitting on the opposite end, holding what seems like a hairy monster plush or something, so he takes the nearest end, as his legs start to buckle beneath him, trembling slightly.

             Almost immediately, he can feel it, a blatant stare from the other person.

             Howon hates it, how touchy it made him, and he had learned to live with it, tries to be understanding, like he does everything else. Still, no matter how well he considers himself; there are still days like today, when it feels like everything is too much, each look burns on his skin, on his cold prosthetic leg, as if he is a broken, walking, breathing display. And he knows he will regret it, like he always does, but he has long passed his limit

             So he turns, meeting the other man’s eyes, and scowls, hard.

             He can see the other visibly flinches, and lowers the eyes, softly muttering apologies.

             And Howon, he loathes this the most; that he cannot seem able to let go of his anger, however reasonable it may be, and he realizes it again, that in a way he always, always hurts other people with his fury.

             He stares ahead, feeling the rage subsides with each passing cars, and like always he feels tired after all the fluctuate emotions, so he closes his eyes, and tries to breathe.

             Slowly, he gathers himself again, tries to hold his self together again.

             More importantly, he reins his traitorous mind back, burying the mocking stares.

             Even when he discovers all that will be left is just his empty, broken bag of bones.

 

*******

 _All the things that I want to change_  
_Will they just stay the same?_

 

-19th March-

 

             The door to the café shuts behind him, and Myungsoo finds it hard to breathe, even when he starts running, his long legs break into a run, getting faster by the minute. There is a mix of emotions swirling in, choking him inside; hurt, frustration, disappointment, and most of all half of him really wants to turn back, and shakes his boyfriend’s head for being so utterly stupid.

             But he wouldn’t do that, couldn’t, knowing full well how Sungyeol is, and confronting him in public is the worst thing he could do to him. Still, he just cannot continue sitting there, as if nothing happened, not after one look at the pale, scared face of his beloved.

             He was reminded to all those breakdowns again, all the promises afterwards broken.

             So here he is, running as if his life depended on it, just to be away, far away from there, clenching his jaw, so tight it hurts, if only to stop himself from crying.

             For he doesn’t blame Sungyeol, no, not even a bit; if anything he feels like everything is his fault; for confessing, for asking the other out today, and most of all, for not realizing how bad the situation was, that the other really was feeling that uncomfortable, and he had been so blind to ignore all the signs.

             Alas, he cannot help being frustrated; he had trusted him, to always, always tell if he is being overwhelmed again, and they had this talk for so many times already, he could almost recite it word for word by now.

             Yet, here they are, in this same situation again, like a never ending cycle.

             Ideally, and usually, in the face of such event Myungsoo will pays the bill properly, and smoothly whisks them away from there, to somewhere private to calm the older down, and Sungyeol will apologize, and he will make the other promise to talk to him, wishing for his boyfriend to trust him enough to handle the situation.

             Instead, this time he fails to hold himself together, as if a string had been cut, his mind blanking out on him, that before he knew it he had walked out of there, and he had actually ended up leaving him, leaving Sungyeol, there at the café, at the very same seat where the light hits him just right, like a halo, as the older smiled at him, and Myungsoo was struck dumb as realization hits.

             That he had been in love with his best friend all these time

             He never planned on confessing, not when he knows himself all too well; that he will never ever able to let go once attached to someone, his clinginess suffocating his previous partners, unable to find the balance for both of them. Which, combined with Sungyeol’s own issues, would not make the relationship work.

             But he needed, needs him, so much; he was willing to forsake everything just for the miniscule chance, that when the older reciprocate his feelings he literally pinched his face in disbelief. Sungyeol smiled at him then, laughed himself silly at the ridiculous face he was making, and he knew he would never forget that moment in his life.

             Myungsoo slows down, remembering the words, the promise he made to himself then, that no matter what he will put the older first, for he loves him so.

             But his mind is messed up; it is his forever enemy against himself, haunting him at his lowest, for it starts playing the moment his beloved swatted his hand away, as if telling him the reason of why he behaved like this this time around.

             Sucking a breath, he almost stumbled down on the pavement, as his body feels so, so cold at the thought; that he is being rejected, that surely his boyfriend is going to leave, not when he is being selfish enough to put the other on the spot, alone, and Myungsoo never hates himself as he does now, convinced he is in the wrong here.

             He is always the one at fault, so that is why everyone leaves in the end. No matter how much he begged for them to stay, regardless of how he tries to change, as if cursed, he will be abandoned, again.

             He stands there, frozen by the sidewalk, chest heaving erratically, mind buzzing with all the onslaught of memories; the girl with disgusted face in junior high, the male senior in high school, and the last time he saw his mother walking out of the door, pulling a suitcase on one hand, slapping his small one with the other.

             His mind spirals, morphing his mother’s face, and changed into Sungyeol’s.

             With cold eyes, cruel words echoes on, scarring him for life as the door slammed shut.

             Suddenly Myungsoo finds it very, very hard to breath.

 

*******

  _All the things that haven’t changed_  
_I’m not ready to face them_

 

-1st June-

 

             The wind blows gently, tousling his hair as Woohyun walks to his usual spot; a bench under a tree by the playground. And as always he sits, holds the guitar in position, and starts to sing, deft callused fingers strumming the instrument softly. Slowly, he closes his eyes, lets his voice and music carried away by the wind, and forgets the world, even if just for the moment.

             For he just wants to do exactly this, not all those part time jobs that had him running from one place to another, just to catch the next shift at the next restaurant. Still, he had persevered; until one day he was laid off from the chicken restaurant, one that took a whole buck of his time every day, as the business finally went under after all the struggling since the change in management.

             Admittedly he was lost from the sudden free time; he had been passing each day and repeated the same cycle of wake up-job-write songs-sleep for what feels like years since he moved out from home, after a huge fight broke out when he announced his intention to be a singer instead of taking over family business.

             It wasn’t until he passed by this area, with his guitar in hand, -after yet another failed audition, thanks to his stage fright-, that he was struck with the idea.

             After all, he only wants to sing, to let people hear the words he keeps inside his heart, a lifelong dream he had held on since forever. Of course, if possible, he wants to do it for a living, but when he has a clear audience he catches himself stuck, tongue-tied, his fingers shaking against his beloved guitar.

             It is frustrating, to say the least, so for now he sings here, busking at this place, where the playground is small compare to the one just on the other side of the road, conspicuous enough despite being surrounded by tall apartment flats, even when they are no one to hear him properly, all while believing that somehow, somewhere, someone listens.

             He should be satisfied, content to take a small corner in this whole wide world, but sometimes he couldn’t help but think of what-ifs, even more so when his family starts calling again lately, urging him to come back, as if they did not disowned him in the first place.

             And Woohyun, he is just a human; the scars left from their scathing words had never actually healed, even after all this time, that he had come to resent them greatly instead with each missed call and messages.

             So he channels it all into his new song, in each word he sings, and every pluck of his guitar, that when he reaches the last note, he catches himself out of breath, struggling to get himself together again.

             He hates it, that no matter how much he pours it all out he is still left with the same bitter feelings, and some of it even directed towards himself, for he knows, they have a good reason to reach out to him, each new call sounds more desperate than the last.

             His parents don’t have long to live, apparently.

             Still, he does not have it in him to go back, not now, not ever, and it makes him feel like a bad person, but is it that wrong of him, to not feel anything at such news? Will he come to regret this, even? Woohyun doesn’t have any answer for himself, especially when it is clear their stand on his decision all those years ago still hasn’t change.

             A crack sound of a twig been stepped on brings him back to reality, and he lifts his head, only to see a man passing by, eyes unseeing, wearing a Minnie headband, one hand holding the string for a dolphin balloon. The man stops in front of a bench some ways in front of him, and sits, his back facing him.

             He knows of the man, had seen him around from time to time, holding hands with a cute young girl who he assumed is his daughter, but this is the first time he ever saw the man being this miserable, which made him wonder, if he also looks as sad as the stranger.

             And when the shoulder shook slightly, his heart clenches inside, painfully.

             So Woohyun holds his guitar, and starts to sing, even with his shaky voice.

             Softly, he wishes to the sky for happiness to greet them, even if only for the moment.

 

*******

 _Sometimes, I ran away_  
_Sometimes, I hid_  
_But I always knew the ending_

 

-30th August-

 

             The bus stop is empty by the time he arrives and Dongwoo smiles in delight, taking a seat by the far end, clutching his hairy monster plush close. He can feel the looks, hears the murmur, but he had long used to those, than he can tune them all out as easy as breathing.

             After all, he had them since he was like what, nine or something, and even then, it had been far too long; he can hardly recall those days anymore, or so he wishes.

             It’s amazing how much one can remembers, especially when it comes to sadness, and for a kid such as him, those are printed in vivid colors, ready to be viewed; the stale smell of the wooden shack, other kid’s voices –laughing, screaming, crying-, and the adults with fake smiles looking down at them.

             Dongwoo never knows his parents, having been raised at the orphanage for as long as he could remember, and is glad for it; at least he can imagine, made them up in all the best people he ever had the pleasure to meet instead of having a real, tangible image of what kind of person they really are.

             And he had met a lot of people; since the day he got lost after taking a walk just slightly away from usual, the hairy monster plushy clutched close, too distracted by the beautiful butterfly that when he looked back he could never remember the way back to the orphanage.

             Today, he found out where the orphanage really was, after years of searching, and along with it he discovered more sadness instead; the wooden shack -that was used for punishment in the guise of hide and seeks with the adults- had burnt down in a huge fire, which almost bring down the entire main building along, the kids that used to be his friends mostly had passed on or very sickly from neglect, and the beautiful garden is no more, as nature takes over the building, weeds as tall as his waist surrounding the area.

             Nothing remains from his memories, and he is still deciding if it is a good thing or not.

             If there is one thing he is glad to have remained, it will be the blue bus; it had stopped in front of him one day, -just sometimes after he got lost all those years ago-, even when he was nowhere near a bus stop, the open door beckoning him in.

             Dongwoo was too young to understand the feeling back then, but he got in anyway, and consequently forgotten his plushy inside when he decided to get off the bus.

             Still, the very same hairy monster plush will found its way back to him, in one way or another, and every single time, whenever he is reminded of all the painful things, he just clutches it close, and the bus will come, as if a lie, as if it was looking out for him, somehow.

             He never knows the truth, but that’s a nice thought, for someone as alone as him.            

             There is a presence on his right, and there is a man standing there, before sitting down on the far end of the stop, his appearance catches his eyes. After all it’s not every day he’ll see a man daring enough to wear shorts, all while showing a prosthetic that looks almost metallic for a leg, as well as black tank top that exposes what seems like a huge scar all the way to the neck.

             For a moment Dongwoo forgets himself, just blatantly staring, until the man turns, meeting his eyes, and scowls, hard, jolting him back to reality. And he feels so bad immediately after, ashamed at his rudeness, and lowers the eyes; softly muttering apologies. He hopes the other didn’t realize he visibly flinches at the scowl; he kind of deserves it after all.

             Not too soon after, a younger-looking man walks by, steps halted at the sight of empty space between Dongwoo and the other. Wordlessly, the man, who he assumes is a student, takes a sit, ignoring the look from both men beside him, carbon-stained hands clutching the backpack over his shoulders in a tight grip, face pale for such warm weather.

             And Dongwoo, he sees enough, so he faces the front, as if nothing happened.

             For a while they sit there in silence, ignoring the look of bewilderment from the other passerby’s, which he takes slight comfort at; he can pretend that it is not him that caused such look, maybe it’s the man with the prosthetic leg, maybe it’s the pale face student, but even if it is him, well, he is used to it.

             Then, there is a sound of engine nearing and his eyes snap open.

             Sure enough, there is a blue bus, coming to a stop in front of them, and for a moment he catches himself thinking if it is the same bus, thus, he made no move to get up, as do the other two with him, yet the bus remains there, as if waiting for him, any of them, to get on.

             But then it is back, the one feeling he can never describe, -even when it already grows to be so familiar- washes over him, as he looks over at the bus; the open door beckoning him in.

             Beside him, the student whispers softly, asking to no one in particular ‘is this the one?’ before standing up, face grim, yet determined, as he walks up to the door, not once looking back. And that should be it, the bus might start to move anytime soon, he thinks, yet even after what feels like minutes it remain stationary there, in front of them.

             He watches on, waiting, as the other man starts moving to the door, but not before texting furiously on his phone, as if pulled in. After yet a few minutes, Dongwoo stands up, inexplicably calm, and walks up the short stairs to the entrance.

             As always, the same thin, white gloved hand welcomes him in.

             And when he takes the furthest seat, by the window, he catches himself smiling softly.

             For he wonders, yet again, if this is what being home feels like.

 

 *******

 _Can’t someone take me out?_  
_Before the night is over?_

 

-19th March-

 

             Sungyeol runs, as if his life depended on it, all while hoping that he will catch up to him, to the one he always felt so out of his reach, and yet, with a soft, nervous smile, handed him his heart, as if Sungyeol is worthy of such precious, important thing.

             And when he found him standing there, the back facing him -but he can recognize him, of course he can-, frozen solid in the middle of the sidewalk, all he can think is to call out for him, which he did, but received no response whatsoever.

             So he reaches out, grabs an arm, and pulls.

             Myungsoo turns easily, with zero resistance, eyes unseeing with unshed tears, yet when those eyes meets his, the younger pulls his arm back, as if burned. It left a sting in Sungyeol’s heart, but he is reminded on what he actually did earlier, even when knowing full well his boyfriend’s issues with rejection, and he sobers up immediately.

             The younger turns back, slowly, starts to move again, and somehow he has these feelings that if he lets the other go he will never see him again, so he takes a deep breath, and with a voice as loud as he can muster, calls out his beloved’s name.

             If one has the chance to ask Myungsoo later, he will admit to be so overwhelmed that he can hardly hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. Yet, somehow, he can hear him clearly, the tremor in Sungyeol’s voice, calling out for him.

             It is as if a veil is being lifted; everything clears in his mind, and when he turns around, there is his boyfriend still, eyes fixed on him. Even so, for a moment they just stand there, too conflicted to move yet unable to go away, until a blue bus pulls over, the door opens directly in front of Myungsoo.

             The younger turns, and something about the whole thing makes him feeling resigned more than anything, so he takes one last look at Sungyeol, and boards the bus. He barely reaches the top step of the short stairs when he can hear the elder’s footsteps, following him.

             As for Sungyeol, he knows Myungsoo wants him to follow, even if the other says nothing at all. And so when the younger turns to board the bus, there is no need for second guesses.

             He will follow him, his beloved boyfriend, no matter where it’ll be.

             They settle on the 2-person seat near the middle of the bus, Myungsoo taking the window seat, and as the bus starts moving, Sungyeol reaches out, and clasps their hands together.

             Just like that, the two of them find themselves breathing easy again.

             Even if it is only for a moment, at the very least, they finally found a peace of mind.

             And they will keep holding on to it, as long as time allows them to.

 

*******

 _Before the night is over_  
_Help, somebody help_

 

-1st June-

 

             There is a guitar melody coming from behind him, and Sunggyu closes his eyes, fist tightens around the thin string of the balloon. And when the busker’s voice greets him, he swears he can hear his heart breaking again.

             He had known of the man; sometimes Yujin spoke of him on the days the other was not there, on the bench under the tree, just simple things like ‘the guitar looks nice’, ‘he is not here I wonder if he is sick’, and on the days that the other was present, it was usually a variation of ‘I want to hear him sing more’ and ‘why does he stop, dad, is he shy?’

             How ironical that when his girl can no longer come, the other starts singing loud enough, the soft, yet powerful voice carries across to fill the space between them.

             _“Even so, I love your singing voice more, dad!”_

             Sunggyu takes in a shaky breath, trying to focus on the lyrics, lest he will go and cry again at what supposed to be a happy memory with his daughter, and feels his heart stills in his chest.

             For the words are achingly beautiful, delivered sincerely by the busker; a prayer for happiness, even within all the sadness, and for a moment Sunggyu actually stops to think of the singer; if the other is also like him, just another man with invisible scars buried inside.

             The song ends not too soon after, and the silence that follows at its wake rings in his ears, but Sunggyu remains there, not once looking back, taking Yujin’s opinion that the singer might be shy, after pouring his heart out like that. So he resorts to thanking the man in his heart, for the hopeful song, and wishes for all the prayers to come true.

             As for Woohyun, he has lost all his words, and for a moment it takes all of him just to keep breathing, pulling the guitar close to his chest, his gaze lands on the dolphin balloon, swayed by the wind.

             He is content to stay like this, even if just for a little longer, basking in the quiet, but the shrill tone of his phone breaks the silence, and in his haste to stop the sound he picks up the call without looking at the caller ID, his heart beating a mile a minute inside.

             And he regrets it at hello, as the voice of his brother greets him, going on and on about the same thing, about how he really needs to get himself together, the business is going to fall at this rate, mom missed you don’t you feel sorry for her and oh dad is sorry he really am but whatever just come back first, will you?

             Woohyun looks ahead, tuning his brother’s droning out, and stares at the back of the man in front of him, and surprised himself when he figured it out; that he is envious of the girl all this time, to be loved that much by her parent.

             Smiling wryly, he cuts the one-sided conversation with a firm ‘don’t.’

             There is a sharp intake of breath, as if shocked, and softly, gently, he whispers.

             “Goodbye, hyung. Tell that to mom and dad, too.”

             Woohyun ends the call, his hand clutches the phone tightly in his grasp, and it feels like his mind is wiped clean, just nothingness inside. He stands up then, only to see the man facing sideways, eyes fixed on a blue bus parked on the side on the road. He watches on, as the other walks straight towards it, and stops in front of the open door. And from here he can see it clearly somehow; a thin white gloved hand waving, calling him over.

             Sunggyu had seen it too, had heard the short farewell from the busker, carried by the wind despite the distance, and his mind is dizzy, spinning at the weight of such words. So when he sees the bus all he can think is he needs to get away; everything feels too much for him to handle.

             Still, when he takes a step on the short stair, Yujin’s face comes unbidden on his mind, and he finds himself unable to climb forward, as if something is stopping him from going. And he almost turns back, half a mind to step off, when he comes face to face with the busker.

             The singer has a guitar slung across his back, empty eyes meeting his, and with a quiet, resigned sigh, calls out to the inside of the bus, “Where do we go from here?”, and almost immediately, a soft, thin voice answers back, “Somewhere far, far away from here.”

             Sunggyu’s heart clenches painfully, reminded of Yujin echoing similar words earlier, while Woohyun’s mind stills, one hand reaching out to the railing on top of the stairs, both of them boards the bus almost as a last resort, in the wake of all the emotional roller-coaster today, if only to gather themselves together again.

             Still, as they sit by the window seat,–Woohyun skipping a row behind Sunggyu- they find themselves looking out to the playground, drinking in the scenery, as if they will never see it again.

             Sunggyu tightens his hold on the balloon string, as if a lifeline.

             Woohyun hugs his guitar close, willing his hand to stop shaking.

             And they will keep holding on to those, even as the bus takes them far, far away.

 

*******

[Windswept]

 

-5th October-

 

             Mrs. Park inserts the key, and with a practiced motion, opens the door to the apartment at the very end of the hallway, one that was used to be rented by the thin, soft-smiled college student. Reaching the vacuum cleaner between the cupboard and the wall, she starts cleaning the place; starting from the living room, the hallways, the kitchen, the spare rooms, and lastly, the bedroom, the whirring sound of the machine filling the silence.

             She is careful not to touch a corner of the room, where a pencil and notebook laid on the floor, traces of carbon a stark contrast against the tiles. Sometimes she glances at the book, fighting the urge to take a look inside, but she is then reminded of the student, a backpack on the shoulder, soft smile on the pretty face, as he handed her the key one day earlier than planned.

             She had asked the student, what happened, aren’t you leaving tomorrow, yet Sungjong, -polite, kind Lee Sungjong, who she had come to love as if he was her own son- just smiles slightly at her, eyes never leaving her face, and her heart ached at the sight.

             So much, she gathered him in her arms instead of waiting for an answer, hugged the student close, and she pulled him tighter when she could feel arms that rounded her trembling against her back.

             Still, Sungjong said nothing but thank you when he pulled away, waves of gratitude shining in his eyes, as the young man bowed low to her, before raised his head again, and smiles, wider this time, as if to dispel the tears threatening to fall down his face.

             And she, she could only took a step forward, and pat the youngster on the back, swallowing all the tears herself, as he started to make his way out of the building. And she remained standing there, when he turned around for one last wave, which she reciprocated until his silhouette disappeared from her eyes.

             She had wished for nothing but happiness for the young man then, and as days passed she wound up thinking, wishing he will come and visit sometime, like he said he would, until one day two officers knocked on her door, and asked about the last time she saw him –when was it, what kind of clothes did he wore, did you notice anything suspicious- and her heart shattered in her chest.

             Later, she switched on the TV as the newscaster talked on the ongoing missing person case happening in the city, and Lee Sungjong’s face greets her from across the screen. Apparently he never went back home, never board the train, and the last time one had seen a young man who matched his description was at the bus stop, boarding a blue bus instead.

             That was one month ago.

             Today, she cleans the empty apartment, -one she cannot bear to rent out despite everything-, a habit she develops when she wound up thinking too much of the still missing, sweet young man in her memories, and her heart aches again.

             Still, she wishes for nothing but happiness for Sungjong, wherever he is.

             For she can still remember with startling clarity, the look on the other’s face that day.

             So clear, it haunts her.

 

*******

[White Noise]

 

-24th April-

 

             The bell chimes above the door, and by reflex all attention of the staff present turns to the entrance, greetings at ready, welcoming the customers in with a smile. Jieun waits until they are settled at the seat –a couple from the nearby university, a usual around this time of the day-, before approaches them with her trusty notepad, carefully jotting down the order, and relaying them to the kitchen staffs and barista on duty, who works almost immediately to complete said order.

             She likes this place, falls in love with this quaint café the moment she passed the door for the first time a couple of months before, and it amazes her how she will never get tired of discovering something new with each shift. Last week she found out that the little way the light hits the window gives a different aesthetic to the small corner at the back, and her finger itches for her camera, as always.

             The manager overlooked her not-so-discrete attempt to snap the moment with her phone, so she called it a win, even when Yeonwoo, the barista shakes his head from behind the counter in mock disapproval, to which she just grins unapologetically.

             Today, she has the longer shift with said barista, and she cannot help but noticed how the usually calm older man seems distracted, head whips to the door every time the bell chimes, as if he is waiting for somebody, and when there is a lull where there is no order coming the man just stares resolutely at the door, willing for it to open, to her utter confusion.

             For Yeonwoo never seems this agitated, for as long as she knows him so far.

             Alas it all comes to a halt when the bell chimes for the nth time.

             Standing in front of the counter is a man in his forties maybe, a jacket slung over a shoulder, an unreadable expression across the face, and she watches as the manager nods gravely, pushes Yeonwoo out to go take some air and calls out to her to come, before ushering the man inside to the back room.

             She walks steadily despite herself, following them in and meets the manager who stands before the door to the break room, and after a deep breath, speaks, with soft, soft voice, how the man is a detective, he is investigating a missing person case, and he had been here already yesterday, but you were not in then, so he is here to ask some questions, don’t worry, just answer the best you can, okay?

             And Jieun, her heart thuds in her chest, her mind running a mile a minute, wondering who is missing, but the manager looks at her expectantly, and so she nods, reassuring, and the elder woman smiles, relieved, and steps aside as she opens the door.

             Sitting on a chair before her is the said detective, who politely gestures for her to sit, thanking her for cooperating with the investigation, and after simple, basic inquiry of her name and such, cuts straight to the chase.

             Still, she takes her time answering, having to pause and jogs down her memory on what happened on her shift on 19th March –it was some time ago, after all-, and admits as such, to which the older man smiles, appreciating her honesty. He then takes out some papers from an envelope, face down, and asks her, to really, really think carefully, and to tell if she remember anything on these people, anything at all.

             The man flips the papers, and everything comes crashing down on her.

             She remembers them well, the two handsome boys from her early days on the café, even when she only met them once, for she recalled how Yeonwoo had looked troubled as they left, eyes following as the last of the two dashed out, until even the silhouette disappeared from view, hands clutching the crumpled bills left on the counter.

             She had asked then, if they were perhaps his acquaintance, and her heart breaks as her mind recalled how Yeonwoo had spoken about them, impossibly fond; how they were his earliest regulars, since he first started working here a couple of years ago, and they feel more like younger brothers rather than customers sometimes, with how many things they talked about over the years, and the taller one –Sungyeol- always, always greets him; even with at least a smile, except that day.

             But they will be fine, and they will drop by for the change later, the barista mused.

             Yet they never did, the change and bill from that day remains untouched at the corner of the counter, and she started hearing rumors on campus about how the popular, almost prodigious photography major senior and his art major best friend had gone missing suddenly, but she’s too busy going to her own photography classes to take notes on the matter.

             She had heard the name Kim Myungsoo in passing among her classmates, and she had seen his work in exhibitions, but she never knew his face, never thought to link anything together, and now, staring at the two portrait photographs on the small table in the café’s break room, she wished she had known them better, somehow.

             So she talks, describes everything in as much detail as she remembered, wishing, and hoping that it will help the investigation, even if just a little bit.

             The whole proceeding passes like a blur then, that before she knew it she’s walking the detective to the door, the manager’s warm hand on her shoulder grounding her to reality, as Yeonwoo speaks, briefly, yet resoundingly clear it makes her dizzy.

             “Please find them.”

             And the detective replies, in a tone as firm, “We will do our best.”

             Later, the news will spread like wildfire, as the same two photographs greets her from the screen and papers, and some will point out how the two students might be the first from a string of disappearances as more cases reported, sending the whole country into an uproar.

             She will learn all sorts of stuff about the two boys, gossips and conspiracy theories running rampant in campus, to her utter dismay.

             But today, she clutches her hands tightly, and wishes out loud for them to be back.

             Yeonwoo stares at her, smiling softly, but does not say a thing.

             Jieun is yet to know this, but the moment will stay with her for a long, long time.

 

*******

[No Promises]

 

-13th June-

 

             The sound of laughter greets him before he can even pushes open the door properly, and suddenly his leg is circled by a pair of small arms, as Yujin attempts to make him a shield from Mina’s wriggling fingers, and he raises his hands in surrender with zero hesitance, to which Mina just snorts and signals for him to move inside, hands ready to catch the girl.

             The shriek that follows makes him wince, and Hojun resolutely walks to the bedroom without a glance back, knowing Yujin’s shooting him a betrayed look, but he knows better than to get involved in the tickle fight after the first time he did, as the wife and daughter ended up teaming against him instead.

             Besides, no matter how much he might want to indulge the two, he is still tired from all the meetings at work, the project he thought finally finalized last week ended up being put on hold, which put a real setback on all other related projects, to his team’s utter dismay.

             Hojun knows it’s not any of their faults, just a problem with timing, but he is a team player first and foremost, that he finds himself delaying the transfer to the overseas branch, if only to see this till the end.

             Mina understands his decision, supporting him like she always is, and for that he is grateful, and really glad he went through with the marriage, despite the opposition from his family, just because he was a bachelor while she was a divorcee with a kid. Hojun scowls at the thought; Yujin is the most amazing child he ever had the pleasure to meet, they don’t know what they are missing, really.

             Still, just because he is estranged with his parents, doesn’t mean he wants Yujin to face the same thing, even when their circumstances can hardly be any different. Hojun never knows full detail on what lead to the divorce, and he hardly knew the ex-husband in the first place, but he still remember the day that started it; they were out to pick up some milk, and the topic was on something he can hardly recall now, but somehow he just blurted the question, “Do you love him, Yujin?’

             The child stopped, looked up at him, and simply stared, though he could almost see the gears in her brain moving, thinking, and he had the entire mind to drop the matter altogether as he belatedly realized that he didn’t specify who the ‘him’ was when Yujin tugged at his hands, catching his attention.

             “Father,” she started, “I love you, and don’t tell mom, but I love dad, too.”

             It was spoken simply, directly, and Hojun felt like a fool; how could he not see it?

             When the idea of marriage was first brought in, they were both worried on how Yujin would take it, and Mina and he had taken to break it down to the child properly, that uncle Hojun will be Yujin’s dad, they’re staying together for good, and they’re becoming a family. And Yujin, their very bright Yujin had simply nodded, turned to face him properly, and called out, ‘father’, to their utter shock.

             They were too happy then, him even more so for being accepted, that it never occur to him why he was not called ‘dad’ instead. And Mina never minded it, though she sometimes joked that she should be called mother now, too, to which Yujin just smiles slightly.

             Afterwards it was like as if a dam was broken; he just needed to prod a bit when it was just the two of them together, and Yujin would talk about him, how her dad is very cool but also very kind, that he smiles easily and when he did his eyes disappears, that they always hold hands, and no matter how much he asked Yujin had nothing but good words for him.

             Admittedly he felt jealous at the amount of affection pouring out from the little girl at those moments, but it could not compare to the ache he felt when he asked, if she wants to meet him, and she readily answered, ‘Yes, but mom will feel sad, so it’s okay.’

             What kind of a man is he, if he could not even let his daughter meets her dad?

             So he reached out to Sunggyu, who he found out later actually really wants to get closer to Yujin, but too mindful of Mina’s distaste of the idea, and he can never forget the look on the man’s face, -bewildered, disbelief, eyes shined with pure happiness- when he proposed the biweekly meeting arrangement.

             He had expected to have to fight Mina over the matter, -his wife can be really headstrong at times- and when he told her of the arrangement she was clearly upset about it, but relented easier than he thought, to his surprise.

             Still, he didn’t prod, and Mina never offered any details, so that’s that.

             There is a knock at the door, bringing him back to reality, and when he opens it there’s Yujin, smiling at him, saying dinner’s ready, before runs off to the kitchen, where Mina is setting the table. A quick glance at the TV shows the cartoon show instead of the news channel, and he hopes Yujin doesn’t realize the change from the routine.

             Hojun has no idea what kind of face he’ll make if they show Sunggyu’s face on the screen, and judging from the pointed look Mina sends him, they still succeeded on hiding it from Yujin.

             He is still grateful that the detective had come to his office, instead of coming to the house, -he had called Mina over immediately when the man asked if it was possible to talk to the two of them, their workplaces are not that far apart anyway-, and together they sat, as the older man talked about how Yujin’s beloved dad had gone missing, that he never made his way back home after the whole day outing the other day, and he could feel his mind spinning, but no matter how he blinked it was still there, a picture of Sunggyu, smiling softly, on the table in front of him.

             That was almost a week ago.

             Still, the very thought of it, that he and Yujin might as well be the last to see the man alive sends chills down his spine.

             So they decided, right there and then, that no matter what they will not let Yujin know, all while following the news almost religiously, wishing, hoping, that Sunggyu will not be another case in the growing disappearance in the city.

             Later, when they are sure that Yujin is safe in bed, they tune to the late night news, like they always did, keeping the volume low, and swallows the disappointment as the search continues. And that should be the last of their routine, with them ready to retire to bed, but Mina closes the TV, and let out a gasp, eyes fixed ahead.

             Reflected on the dark screen is Yujin, hand clutching a bunny plush –a gift from Sunggyu, his mind helpfully tells him-, and he can feel his legs goes weak at the look on the child’s face.

             “Dad looks good on screen, right, Father?”

             As if burned, Hojun runs towards her, pulling her close, as Mina sobs behind him. Still, the girl stands there, in his arms, eerily silent, and unwittingly he remembered Sunggyu again; the look he had on his face that day, smiling amidst the hidden strain on his face, as if he was holding back everything in him just to appear strong, either for Yujin’s sake, or to not show weakness in front of him, Hojun had, has no idea.

             And when the man said ‘father’ to the girl, he had nothing but utmost respect to the other man, knowing how hard it could be to acknowledge such thing, even more so in front of the other person.

             Still, Hojun regrets it, the slight glance to the rearview mirror, as the car speeds away.

             For he doesn’t think he’ll forget it, the sight of the man standing there by the road.

             With a resigned, soft, yet sad smile, Sunggyu waved them goodbye.

 

*******

[Deeper]

 

-27th September-

 

             The squeaking sound of shoes on the floor fills the room, but Youngjae can hardly hear those over the thumping of the bass beneath his feet, as he moves in tandem with the rhythm, feeling the beat with each muscle in his body.

             After the success in last year’s competition, the university’s dance club is expected to retain the title, which actually piles the pressure on him, being the leader of said club after the previous head quits, in order to focus on graduation project.

             Personally, he doesn’t mind it; the pressure motivates him to do better, and in the end it all comes down to the fact that he loves to dance, so much he even has it as his major, and he is lucky enough to meet great people here, whether in club or class, sharing the same passion towards the art.

             Still, he prefers practicing alone, perfecting his moves over and over again.

             Youngjae strikes a pose after landing a high tumble, fierce eyes reflected on the huge mirror making up one wall of the practice room, as the music comes to a stop. Catching his breath, he relaxes his posture, and heads for the corner, reaching for the water bottle in his bag.

             His eye catches his phone, and his hand automatically reaches for it, like a habit. Absentmindedly, he unlocks it, scrolls through the notifications, checks for any reminder just in case, deletes spam messages, and stops at one read message, one he cannot seem able to delete, despite it being close to one month now since he received it.

             Youngjae was in the middle of his own part-time job when his phone buzzed with the message, and it wasn’t until his shift was over that he saw it. Still, he was tired from the long day, and figured he could always ask Howon about the whole thing later, so he paid no mind about it, and passed out on the sofa of their shared apartment.

             He woke up to no sign of his roommate coming back, the place the same as it was the night before, and for a moment he could not think of anything, just confusion, that eventually grown into a pool of dread and worry about his friend’s sudden disappearance.

             It was too soon to call the police; maybe the man just crashed at the studio again, being closer to the store he worked at than their place, or maybe he caught up with friends and stayed over, but unless something came up he will always, always be back by now, lounging on the rowed chair by the kitchen, prosthetic leg off and leaned by the wall. And the other would let him know, sent a message at least, and that thought strike at him, remembering the short message.

             He re-read it, and for a second his mind drew a blank, as he inhaled sharply.

             _“ I think this is really the bus, so I’m going.”_

             It is simple, short and straight to the point, yet final in tone, and realization sank in.

             Howon, his friend and roommate since he first moved here for college, really might have found the blue bus they talked in the rumor, the one that supposedly selected its passengers, and the more scary story talked about how they will never be seen again.

             And his friend, for all he is strong despite all the hardship befallen him, had somehow being taken by all the stories; Youngjae had seen him went on reading the posts people put up on the internet with a wistful expression, and sometimes the man would look at buses intently, as if searching for something.

             He had asked once, what would you do if you found it? And Howon, with a grin on the face, had replied, laughter in his voice, as if giddy by the thought.

             “I’ll get on it, and see where it will take me.”

             Youngjae had joked then, to leave the Xbox had that really happen, and Howon had shrugged like ‘sure’, and they laughed at that, with him starting a mock-fight that escalated to a dance battle, which he won after the other resign regretfully, breathing hard after just a couple of rounds, despite having superior skills compare to him. He secretly admired his friend then, and all the times he saw Howon on the studio, for still dancing despite the battered body and legs.

             He stole a glance at the Xbox on the shelf below the TV, and felt his head spin.

             Youngjae never believed the rumor, thought it was just a myth, so he set out to look for his friend. Gathering himself together, after confirming that all Howon’s stuff still remained in the other’s room, he went to the studio, called their other friends, and went to the convenient store, where the cashier told him on what had transpired the day before; that his friend had been fired, and the girl had looked so, so sorry about everything, he didn’t have the heart to tell her the man might had gone missing to who knows where now.

             When all else failed, he went to the station, dragging his tired legs, bracing himself for possible ridicule at the mention of the bus and all. But when he reached the counter, and mentioned that his friend might have disappeared, a man who appears to be a detective called him over, personally jotted down all the details, and read the message with an unreadable expression across the face.

             With a quiet, yet firm voice, the man asked Youngjae about the bus, and he, who had been watching Howon searching all these time, had a lot to tell. So he did, showing the man all the forum posts, half expecting the older to scoff like he once did, but the detective remains silence, simply taking it all in.

             When they’re done the man thanked him, and said, “We will do our best.”

             Still, Youngjae could not let it go, so he waited until he got a free day, and tried searching on his own, made posters and flyers, knowing the probability of people recognizing Howon was high - a man with a prosthetic that looks almost metallic for a leg, as well as huge scar all the way to the neck bounds to leave an impression somehow.

             And finally, his effort was looking to be paid off as today he managed to follow what might be his friend’s track from the time the other left the store.

             He walked down the road, wondering what might be on the other’s mind back then, and when he reached a bus stop, his legs were buckling beneath him, and so he took a seat, if only for a short rest, the couple of flyers in his hand almost wrinkled on the seat beside him.

             For a moment he simply breathed, and stared at passing cars, until a woman stopped just a bit in front of him, eyes fixed on the flyers, and Youngjae repeated the same question he gave out all day, asking.

             “Excuse me, did you, by chance, remember seeing my friend?”

             Youngjae handed her the flyer, Howon’s face gracing the paper –the same one that had been gracing the screen and paper as yet another case of disappearance along with a couple of others but he could not be bothered about all those now- and when her face lit up in recognition he can feel his heart thundered in his chest.

             “Yes, now that I think of it I think I did; this man and another one they were talking in the news?” Youngjae nodded at that, holding his breath, “And actually there’s another man, they were sitting here, yes, at this bus stop. I was thinking why does they looked so familiar all these time, but I finally remember now; I was passing by and saw them, it was an odd combination, those three; sitting there, just staring ahead.”

             The woman handed him the flyer back, and continued on.

             “When I turn to look back later they were boarding a blue bus.”

             He can feel his blood ran cold at that. Still, he asked, almost stuttering, if she remembered what time it was. She took a minute to think, before taking out her phone, scrolling down.

             “I think it was XX in the evening? I remembered replying to this message then.”

             He felt his body stilled, as he could almost see Howon texting him here, just before he boarded the bus, for the message he received was around that exact time, and it took all of him to not scream at everything. Instead, he thanked her profusely, encouraged her to tell the police, to which she agreed readily, before they parted ways.

             Alas, she turned back, and called out, “I hope they find the bus and everyone!”

             And Youngjae, all he could do was nodded, and bowed in thanks.

             When he was sure she could no longer see him, he turned to the opposite direction, and broke into a run, all the way to the studio, where he put on the music as loud as he could, and start dancing, on and on and on, if only to detach himself from everything.

             That was almost two hours ago.

             Now, he stares at the message again, thinks of his good friend, and smiles bitterly.

             Even when he wishes that Howon will finally finds it; all the things he left here for.

 

*******

[Haunting]

 

-16th May-

 

             The phone in the station rings again and Kangho takes a step outside for a smoke, if only to clear his mind a bit. Ever since the disappearance case of the two university students hit the waves they had been very busy, as more people reports on missing identities; going as far back as a couple of years ago.

             The higher-ups had the case in absolute attention, putting lots of talented, high caliber detectives on the hunt for the missing people, and he had been roped in too as extra help, despite being primarily a homicide detective.

             He understood the decision, they really were lacking in staffs after all, but he remembered the look on his superiors face when he received the order; the older man had a tired look in the eyes, and the attempt for a joke fell flat with a barely hidden grimace, so he cut the meeting short with a simple ‘yes, I understand, sir.’

             He ignored the pointed look from the other man, all the words left unspoken, and belatedly he wondered if his superior actually recommended him because they were expecting to find the bodies by now, instead of breathing, missing people.

             He went back to his desk, opened the file, and officially met Kim Myungsoo, final-year photography major as well as Lee Sungyeol, final-year art major, two best friends from the nearby university. He skimmed through the file, ignored the notes, and started everything from scratch.

             That was a month ago.

             Admittedly, he made better progress; he ruled out traffic accidents as there’s hardly any reported or possible trace of one around the area they often frequented on the supposed day they went missing, it’s not kidnapping when there’s no ransom required, though he did keep in mind of possible darker motive, considering the visuals of the two boys.

             He went around interviewing people, visited both students’ rented rooms, and it was by a stroke of luck he found a stack of books, cleverly hidden in a secret drawer under Kim Myungsoo’s bed.

             It was a picture diary of sort, simple pictures accompanied with little notes, and he read on as the pictures progressively gotten better and more professional-looking, and Kangho noticed, astonishingly, that the subject also became more focused. By the end of the first book, which comprised of first year of studying, he was convinced he could recognize Lee Sungyeol’s smile anywhere, now.

             The notes never revealed anything major, -Kim Myungsoo could be very secretive even if the diaries were clearly meant for his eyes only- but the pictures were a different story; sepia tone for certain days, bright light on another, and no matter how much he turned the pages there was never any indication on family, which caused him to mentally kicked himself for forgetting such obvious lead.

             He paid closer attention to the following entries then, too lazy to trackback two years’ worth of pages, and he learned to look for details when the image was a Polaroid instead of the usual picture size format. For those were rare, and always, always had a different handwriting scrawled below it; sometimes long notes, or simply various styles of signature, which by now he could confidently say was Lee Sungyeol’s.

             He was under no illusion on how close these two were, though some notes made him wonder, until he reached an entry just about two months before the disappearance.

             It was a selca Polaroid, as both boys were present in it, Kim Myungsoo’s arm reached forward, away from the frame, the other rounding Lee Sungyeol’s shoulder, while the latter leaned his head against the former, both smiling so bright, he could feel the happiness shining on their faces. Below it, scrawl handwriting reads a simple ‘thank you’, but it was the notes that got him to pause.

             Kim Myungsoo wrote quite possibly the shortest entry, but also the most telling.

             ‘No, thank you for accepting me,’ it said.

             Kangho took a breath, and closed his eyes, as realization sank in. He remembered Lee Sungyeol’s sketch book, as well as canvases littering the corner of the room, and the feeling that struck when he discovered a painting of Kim Myungsoo, smiling softly, the only portrait amidst all the art works.

             The rest of the pages made him dizzy, as he now figured out why they keep these hidden, even in the privacy of their rooms, and his heart ached for the lovers. Still, these puts things into a whole new perspective, and Kangho realized his fingers were shaking slightly, as they reach the final entry.

             Dated 18th March, there was a picture of Lee Sungyeol, as usual, in what seemed like a café of sort, the way the light hits him made it look almost ethereal, as the man stared straight to the camera, smiling softly. And the short phrase that accompanied it, pretty much sealed the deal.

             ‘Let us meet here again,’ he read.

             He snapped the picture into his phone, emphasizing the background, and sent his assistant to look up which café this might be, hoping for a real, tangible lead. Upon asked where he found the picture, though, he just said he found it by chance, unwilling to delve on the diaries to others.

             Carefully, as if scared, he returned the books to where it belongs.

             About two days later he found the café, went to meet the barista and staffs, and he tried hard to remain professional as Yeonwoo and later Jieun spoke, about the two regulars, and 19th March. Still, the trace disappeared once they were out of the door, and Kangho swallowed all his disappointments, as he gave his word to do his best.

             That was almost 2 weeks ago.

             Today, after this cigarette is finished, he is going to restart everything, and with a new mindset, he will re-opens the file, and learn about Kim Myungsoo and Lee Sungyeol again.

             Kangho is yet to know this, but the notebook he bought for this case will expand further, as he will learn about more people; Kim Sunggyu, Nam Woohyun, Lee Sungjong, Lee Howon, and quite possibly, Jang Dongwoo, along with the ones around them.

             And he will come to wonder, if it really is possible to see them again.

             But that is for much, much later in the future.

             For today, all he can do is try, even when he can almost feel them slipping away.

 

*******

[Find You]

 

-8th July-

 

             The soft sound of wind chime tinkling almost lulls her to sleep, but she fights to keep herself awake, knowing her guest will arrive anytime soon. Eunhee had asked for the helper to made tea in preparation, as well as some biscuits for them, as she wheels herself to the balcony, feeling the breeze against her aging skin.

             Her life now revolves in this 3-LDK, second floor flat with her daughter, where she spends her days mostly watching the TV or trying to tidy up, as much as she could with her stiff, wheelchair-bound body. Personally, she prefers going back to the countryside, in the house she and her late husband had lived for decades of their marriage, but she had thrown her back one day, and Yuri stubbornly brought her here, to this city, promising that they will go back once she is well again.

             That was almost a year ago.

             She missed the house, missed her friends in the neighborhood association, the familiar scenery around the village, but she also understands her daughter’s worry; they only have each other left, now, after her son-in-law passed on unexpectedly from traffic accident.

             And she also knows, can feel it, that she doesn’t have long left herself.

             So she stays here, accompanied by Nami, the helper that comes daily to help around the apartment while Yuri goes to work, and Eunhee is content like this, waiting for her only child to come back, and they will eat dinner together, however late the time might be.

             Still, she has always be one who stays outside, longs for the feel of the sun on her skin, so she always prefers the balcony more than anywhere else, looking out at the small playground below, and listens to the sound of passing cars, as well as morning birds.

             The ring of the door resounds, and she watches as Nami opens the door, ushering the guest in. The man bows to her in greeting, to which she simply nods back, and welcomes him to sit with her by the balcony; Nami had brought one of the kitchen chairs out, with a cushion, to her appreciation.

             The man takes a seat, taking his time, and looks around the scenery, as Nami brings out the tea and biscuits before sits on the nearest sofa inside, just near enough to participate in the conversation if necessary, but still respectfully distant, hands clutched together.

             “Thank you for coming all this way, detective.” she begins.

             Her guest, Kangho, a detective from the local station, simply shakes his head, before taking a sip of the drink, and she bids her time.

             They were watching the news yesterday, as Nami folded the clothes beside her when the screen showed the profiles of the missing people, as well as their last known location and details, when one particular profile strike at her.

             Eunhee stared at the large screen, and the more she went over the features of the man the more familiar he seemed, until the newscaster talked about how he was last seen right in this area, with a Minnie headband and dolphin balloon that she remembered, startlingly, as if a lightning bolt striking the Earth.

             She almost spilled her tea in her haste to call the number on the screen, her shaky fingers struggling with the touch screen, and Nami helped calm her down, and call the hotline.

             On the other side of the line, a detective answered the call, and when she talked on possibly seeing the man, -Kim Sunggyu, Nami helpfully reminded her- the man immediately asked for them to come down to the station, before changing his mind, and asked for permission to visit instead, to which Eunhee agreed immediately.

             They made arrangements, and now here they are.

             Still, she struggles to talk, wonders how she should starts, so Kangho told her to take her time, and do it however way she wants. Eunhee nods, looks out again, and just like that, she finds her words again, somehow, when she throws her gaze to the nearest bench she could see, under a tree just to the side of her balcony.

             Where a young man always sits with his guitar, and sings so many beautiful songs.

             His voice rang out, startling her the first time she heard him that she called out for Nami to lower the volume of the TV, as she closed her eyes, listening intently to each word. Soon, the man started coming frequently, always on the same bench, and it became the highlight of her days.

             She felt bad at times, for simply listening with no payment, -Yuri had explained to her that what the man was doing is called busking- but Nami said there was no case or tins to collect money, so perhaps it would be rude to pay when the other never asked.

             So she kept to herself, sat here like this, and listened to the rich voice of the singer.

             “Do you ever found out his name, anything?” Kangho asks as she pauses for a breath.

             Regretfully, Eunhee shakes her head, and turns to Nami, who continues, “We just listen, watch from here, so we never figured out anything, unfortunately.”

             Kangho nods, hand never seems to stop writing in his black notebook.

             “But,” she adds, catching the detective’s attention, “I wonder if he is gone, too.”

             She rewinds back to 1st June, the date significant for being the start of Yuri’s week-long holiday after long periods of overtime, and they were lounging off here, having sent off Nami to a well-deserved vacation, all while planning for their own short trip.

             A ring of the phone sent Yuri back inside, and Eunhee stayed, basking in the summer sun, when she saw him, her usual singer, taking a spot on the bench, like he always did. Still, something seemed off, it felt like the man held his guitar tighter than usual, and while he did sang sad songs at times, for some reason it never felt as heartbreaking as that day.

             And when the busker sang louder, a beautiful prayer of a song she never heard before, she clutched Yuri’s hand in hers, as both of them closed their eyes, her heart aching with each line of words.

             Yuri almost exclaimed in her seat when the song ended, in awe at the talent of the singer, and she ran inside for her phone, saying things like how she wished she had recorded that, and Eunhee watched, amused.

             Even more so when her daughter ran out screaming, hands frantically typing in her phone, saying there’s trouble with work, but I’ll go and fix it real quick, I’m sorry, mom, will you be ok alone? Should I ask for Mrs. Go’s daughter next door to come?

             She shakes her head, convinced that nothing will happen, and cheekily said ‘I’ll just enjoy the singer for a bit longer,’ to which Yuri pouted, envious. And she just sent her daughter with the usual ‘be safe’, and returned back to the balcony, when the singer received a call, and gently, said his farewell.

             For a moment, Eunhee could not think, unable to believe what had happened and her heart went out to this young man, who looked so forlorn, one hand holding the phone tight enough to hurt.

             Looking back, she wished she had called out, invited him over for tea or something. For the man stood up, and made a beeline to a blue bus on the side of the road, in front of him is another man she later will know as Kim Sunggyu.

             Eunhee watched as Kangho’s eyes widen, -for a moment he almost forgot why he came here for, just focusing on this old woman’s story-, and she nods, breathing softly.

             “I saw him too, here, sometimes, hand-in-hand with a young girl. They always looked so happy, it reminded me of Yuri and my husband all those years ago.” She smiles, before her eyes clouds over, “That day, though, they didn’t look as happy, and I could not see properly from here, but one moment they’re together, then when I realized it he was alone, with the headband and balloon.”

             She watched, as the two men boarded the blue bus, even when her mind was screaming, telling her to stop them, as waves of uneasy feeling washed over her, shaking her insides.

             She had lived long enough to trust her instincts; for it never failed her before.

             So Eunhee, despite her stiff, ailing body, tried standing up on her own, and called out, but for some reason it was as if her throat locked up in her neck, tongue-tied, and it frustrated her so much she ended up hitting her chest, teeth clenched tight.

             Then, when she thought she could barely hold on to the railing anymore, her gaze caught on the open door, as if she could peer inside somehow, and a thin, white gloved hand appeared, so suddenly, it surprised her to stillness.

             Her eyes fixed to the hand, and she swears she could see a half-hidden face peering out, just a small, apologetic smile her way, before the hand waved her goodbye, as the door shuts close. And Eunhee could only watch, from the balcony, as the bus started moving, and disappeared from her view.

             Later, Yuri would return to find her mother collapsed on the wheelchair by the balcony, and she would feel like there was something she forgetting, until the face of Kim Sunggyu appeared on the screen, and everything came back to her.

             “I don’t know if you’ll believe this old woman, and I might really had hallucinated the whole thing, but it had felt too real, there’s no way I could made it all up.”

             She pauses; and takes another deep breath, as the tea had gone cold in her hands.

             “At the very least, I can tell you for sure, the young man never comes to sing again.”

             Outside, flocks of birds flies across the pink sky, sun hidden by the tall buildings.

             And she wishes them well, to find their way back home, wherever it may be.

 

*******

[Reset]

 

-30th August-

 

             The bus moves smoothly along the road, and Dongwoo pushes open the window, feeling the breeze flows in. He opts for the furthest back row seat, where he can observes everyone, -without them knowing-, a habit he developed ever since he first boarded the bus years ago.

             Hugging his hairy monster plush, he takes note of six people among many others in the bus; the pale face student sits nearest to him, albeit on the right side of the seats. A couple of rows in front of him sit the man with prosthetic leg, who had gone almost completely still in his seat, facing the outside almost this entire ride so far.

             Yet another couple of rows in front of them are two men; he had noticed them since he first boarded, hands linked together, bodies close, and somewhere along the road the one who sits by the window leans his head on the other’s shoulder. He surprises himself for being jealous of the pair, and Dongwoo unconsciously hugs his plush tighter.

             His thoughts are broken when the bus bumps slightly, and his gaze lands on the rows in front of him. Near the middle is a man with a guitar, arms hugging the instrument close, head leans on the window, though occasionally the man looks ahead, head tilted upwards, as if staring at the dolphin balloon instead.

             Dongwoo can kind of understand him; the balloon floats gently, hanging above the man with the Minnie headband, and looking at it makes him calm, somehow, even if a bit nostalgic.

             Throwing his gaze outside again, he wonders if any of them realized, that they had passed countless bridges by now, the sky bright and turns pink the next time he blinks, yet never dark, for they can always see the light outside.

             Thus, for him, and perhaps the other two who boarded along at the bus stop before, it will always be 30th August, being the date he last remembered before boarding.

             After all, if the sun never sets, tomorrow can never come, right?

             Dongwoo stands up, looks over the six again, and decides on the pale student. Ignoring the feeling of being watched from the front of the bus, he walks over carefully, and sits next to the younger.

             The student takes a glance at him, yet doesn’t say a thing, so Dongwoo smiles for the both of them, and hands the younger his plush.

             He can see the startled look on the other, and a question in his eyes, something akin to ‘Are you sure?’, and he nods, feeling delighted when the younger smiles slightly, holding the plush close.

             Dongwoo stares ahead, yet even after all these time he is still unable to see the face clearly, always half hidden somehow, but one white gloved hand raises to the body, and the figure bows slightly to his direction, and he grins, satisfied enough.

             Later, one by one, they will step off, even when they will never remember afterwards, no matter how much they try to recall what had happened, especially the ones who received his hairy monster plush, which is filled with all his hopes, wishing nothing but the very best for them.

             And he, too, will eventually do so, after no one is left but him, despite everything.

             For he alone will never forgets, just as how the bus will always come for him.

             But for now, he closes his eyes, and feels himself drifts away, ever so slowly.

 

*******

 

             There is a blue bus roaming the streets of the city every day. On first glance it looks just like the usual buses around; stopping at the stations, picking up passengers, never goes too fast, and sticks to the outside lane, carefully following the road rules.

             In the busy bustle of the city, such public transport would be very popular, -either for the cautious ones in the wake of all the increasing road accidents, or the ones looking for casual ride- so people always looks up the lights above the front glass flashing brightly in red, signifying the route, hoping to catch the bus, but one can never take note of it properly somehow, as if there is something obstructing the view.

             Word also has it that whoever hopes to board has to have some sort of a ticket for it, causing many to dismiss it as groundless rumor, considering that no bus uses tickets anymore, since the upgrade to the card system a while back, which is confirmed by the transportation ministry itself.

             If one were to trace where such word on the bus came to be, it would be from one anonymous poster on the largest site on net, who claimed to come close to board a bus, but somehow or other unable to move from the sidewalk, and thin, white gloved hand stopping them on their tracks, denying entry at the open door.

             Confused, the poster took to the internet, with almost minute detail on what happened, and the post went viral as many more came forth with similar experiences from all over the country, yet no one is able to explain the mystery of the bus.

             Eventually it would grow to be a new urban legend of sort, for as many people acknowledging the existence of the bus, none of them admitted to ever board the bus itself, despite the knowledge that there are people inside, just discernible in faces.

             As for the people who actually did board, they will step off, sometimes just after a short ride, sometimes to some place, miles, miles away from where they boarded, but for them, at most it had been a day, even if they can hardly recall anything at all prior to that.

             After all, the world that greets them after the ride may not be the one they once knew, for time never waits for anyone, theirs were just suspended somehow, and starts moving again once they get off the final step of the vehicle.

             Still, the blue bus runs, almost unnoticed despite its presence, along the roads of the city, across the many bridges, door opens for ones with a wish to escape, even if just for a moment, and pain in their hearts.

             And the bus shall take them away, far away from there, as if a dream.

             Until tomorrow arrives, and the thin, white gloved hand bids them farewell instead.

             Surely, by then, all their wishes have come true.

 

 *******

 

 _When morning comes again_  
_Will I be able to get up?_  
_Somebody help_

**Author's Note:**

> All the kudos and the biggest shoutout to the awesome team AU 1 and our amazing mod for making this experience a very wonderful one! Not forgetting everyone at the Kfic discord as well for all the wordsprint, for everyone had been so helpful, and I truly feel blessed to meet you all like this. This fic would not be possible without you lot walking with me throughout this journey, so really, thank you very much!
> 
> Also my eternal gratitude to A for proofreading this even with busy schedule RL, for dealing with my screaming and spam in the chat, and basically holds my hand throughout everything. I really can't thank you enough. Sometimes, I can't believe you actually stick with me this long lol. 
> 
> Lastly, thank YOU for reading! \O/


End file.
